Thursday, October 06, 2005

The problem with working from home, living in a new city, and being too lazy to join any social groups (I think they need Brownies for adults. I never had problems making friends when I was a kid, but now the only time I ever come in contact with another adult female human being, we're usually both naked in the locker room of the YMCA. Awkward.) is that I have to rely on my boyfriend to make friends, and then introduce me to their mates. Most of the people I've met in the past few months have been perfectly nice, mostly engineers who just smile in a dazed sort of way when I explain my line of work, but they're nice.

Yesterday, my boyfriend brought home Thai food, one of the management people, and his girlfriend. The woman was probably my age (24) or a little younger, and we were standing in the kitchen trying to think of things we had in common (Canadian Idol and The O.C. Mock me if you must.). I was standing there with an aluminum carton of pad thai in my hand when she suddenly says "feel my breast."

"Pardon?"

"Feel my breast. It's not weird."

It was, but for some reason I still reached out and poked her rock hard breast.

"----- paid for it," she informed me. We stood there staring at each other for a few seconds, having lived in a somewhat crappy part of Toronto for so many years, I don't think I've even seen a breast implant in person before. "I'm also getting botox," she added manner-of-factly. "It's a preventative measure."

And then she went back to unpacking the food like nothing had happened.

I can't quite figure out what the point of that exchange was. Was she implying that my B-cups and moving face were somehow an atrocity? Or is it like when you spend far too much money on a handbag or pair of shoes that are so understated no one appreciates how expensive and understated they really are, and it starts to irritate you that no one gets how awe-inspiring your taste is.